


Something Familiar

by everlovingdeer



Series: Harry Potter Short Stories [157]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Memory Loss, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Past Relationship(s), Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 09:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22493974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everlovingdeer/pseuds/everlovingdeer
Summary: When he caught my eyes, my mind instantly flickered back to something I’d dreamt. Something random and strange and … domestic. Slowly, I asked, “We’ve never met before have we? Like, before you first walked into the shop?”He continued to watch me. Only, this gaze deepened like the answer to my question was much more complicated than I’d thought. Just – it made no sense. The silence lengthened until the bell rang once more and then he was drawing away, shaking his head.
Relationships: Frank Longbottom/Original Female Character(s), Frank Longbottom/Reader
Series: Harry Potter Short Stories [157]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1461751
Kudos: 43





	1. Something Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally published to other sites 19/10/19

You could never go wrong with gifting someone chocolate – well unless the intended gift receiver was allergic to chocolate. But, for most people, chocolate was a perfect gift to give. And there were certain times throughout the year when there was an increase in chocolates being ordered from my father’s chocolatiers; Valentine’s day and Christmas being a few examples. With Valentine’s day being just around the corner, there was an influx in specialised orders so we were working at full speed. I just knew that the day before Valentine’s day our shop would be overflowing with clueless boyfriends who had forgotten about the special day; that was why my father was currently working away at the back to ensure we had enough chocolates to meet the demands.

Slowly, I concentrated on the slab of chocolate that I was painstakingly decorating with melted white chocolate. Gently squeezing the piping bag, I maintained the pressure as I reached the end of the spiralled border. Finally, I straightened up from leaning over the counter and breathed out a relieved sigh as my back cracked. Satisfied, I set the piping bag aside and repeatedly clenched and unclenched my hand.

I turned to get one of the boxes for the chocolate slab, saying a vague greeting when the bell above the door rang as another customer walked in. Setting the chocolate I’d painstakingly decorated into the box, I sealed it shut and set it aside for when the customer returned to collect it. Finally, I turned towards our new customer, expecting to find them by the door.

Instead, I found them peering curiously at one of the displays of our newest chocolate truffles. The man, who straightened up from his careful observations, glanced hesitantly towards me.

There was something there – something familiar that had an uncomfortable prickling at the back of my head. It was painful in the way it continued to pound repeatedly until suddenly it disappeared, replaced by a gentle calm. Breathing out shakily, I clung to the counter with two hands to steady myself. I looked away from the customer, preparing to turn away if only to get hold of myself once more.

With my back to the customer, I took the short time to wonder just what it was that had me stumbling unnecessarily like that. From the backroom, my father called out for me to check on the shipment of chocolate boxes that were supposed to arrive sometime today. The order, reminding me that I was supposed to be at work during one of our busiest times of the year, gave me something to cling to. I called back that I’d check on the order after tending to our customers before turning once more to face the shop floor.

My eyes instantly searched the room, looking for our customer. First, I looked to the newer display of truffles where I’d last seen him but he wasn’t there. I found him though, standing beside the till and overlooking the large glass display booth at the front of the shop. God, I thought as I searched his downturned face with ravenous eyes – there was something about him that was so familiar. His presence filled me with the strangest sense of déjà vu as if I knew him from somewhere. _Really_ knew him.

“Can I help you with something?” I asked slowly, approaching the man who looked up at the sound of my voice. He offered me a smile, eyes so tender that I almost faltered and looked away from him. Almost. Instead, I stood firm under his eyes as he continued to watch me for a moment as if he was cataloguing my features and searching for something. I had no idea what. “Sir?”

“I wanted to get a box of chocolates made up,” he said eventually, gesturing towards the premade example boxes we had set up at the top of the display counter. “The £15 box, please.”

“Of course.” Turning away from him, I reached under the counter and drew out the medium-sized box.

Looking back to the customer, I waited for him to gesture towards the chocolates he wanted. Slowly, meticulously, he went about selecting the chocolates one at a time – being careful to read the ingredients of each one. And when the names of the chocolates – some more creative than others – didn’t give anything away, he asked my opinion of them. It took a moment, but we were almost done. The box was sat on the counter, one empty slot remaining and I waited still, the metal tong held between my fingers in preparation.

“Which one do you recommend?” he asked eventually. “Which one’s your favourite?”

“This one,” I said without pause, pointing towards the salted caramel and hazelnut truffle. “Should I add it to the box?”

“Please.”

When the box was finally filled, I carefully shut the lid. Reaching for the tape, I cut off a small part and used it to seal the box before placing it in a carrier bag. Approaching the till, I rang up the price and accepted the money that was held out towards me.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile, handing the man his selection of chocolates.

“Thank _you_ , Miss Rankine,” he insisted with a smile, accepting the bag from me. “My name’s Frank – by the way. Frank Longbottom.”

“Well, I hope you like the chocolates Mr Longbottom,” I said simply, watching as he turned and headed out of the shop. The bell rang again as the door shut quietly behind him.

Frank – that was the name that popped into my head the moment I’d seen his face. He looked like a Frank. 

**********

Days later, I found myself working alone in the backroom when Frank Longbottom reappeared once more. It seemed, much to my annoyance, that from the moment he’d walked out of the shop, my thoughts revolve around him. There wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about him and the image of him should have dissolved and accumulated into the amalgamation of the customers in my head. The only thing that was different about him was the way I’d reacted to him and even then, I was fairly certain that there was some simple biological explanation for it all. There was no need for my fascination.

With my father taking the day off to recover from a particularly busy day, I was left alone in the shop which was another headache and a half. I had to make the chocolates in the back and rush back to the shop floor whenever someone entered. Thankfully, there was a lull in the procession of customers and I got the chance to finish the tray of truffles I’d been working on.

Dropping a hardened piece of ganache into the tempered chocolate, I made sure it was covered before dropping it into the waiting plate of cocoa powder. Rolling it around to coat it, I gently dusted off the extra cocoa powder and set it aside onto the try of truffles that I’d already made. I reached for another one, preparing to begin the process from the top when the bell rang. Completing it as quickly as possible, I washed my hands and wiped them on the apron tied around my waist. Once more returning the hardened ganache to the fridge and covering the tempered chocolate and cocoa powder, I returned to the shop floor. My steps faltered for a moment when I found myself standing once more face to face with Frank Longbottom.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted with a pleasant smile as I once more wiped my hands dry on my apron.

“Good afternoon,” I returned as I walked towards the till. I clutched at the counter, using it to hold me steady as I waited for him to say something, “What can I help you with this time?”

“I wanted to get another box of chocolates,” he said, “the same size as last time.”

Pushing away from the till I grabbed the right sized box and set about once more listening to him as he chose each of the chocolates he wanted. He took his time, and I swore I could feel his eyes lingering on my face before he made each choice. Frank hesitated before making his final choice and I raised my eyes to his.

“Sir?”

“How have you been?” he asked eventually, taking me by surprise. When my eyebrows rose, he hastily gestured towards another chocolate and I used it to complete the box, “It must be busy here.”

“It was,” I agreed, closing the box and taping it. “But now that Valentine’s day has gone, we should have a bit of a break for now.”

“Right, right.” He cleared his throat a little awkwardly and as I went to the till to ring it up, he added quickly, “I wanted to get another box as well – just full of the salted caramel hazelnut ones. Your favourite ones.”

“Of course,” I complied, preparing a second box that took much less time to finish. Setting the completed box aside, I asked, “Is that all?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Ringing up the price, I waited for him to pay. Frank reached into his back pocket, opening his wallet and rifling through it for the right notes.

“Here you go,” he said, holding out the money to me with a smile that I swore – for a fraction of a second, nothing more – made me want to melt like the chocolate I worked with. “The salted caramel and hazelnut ones are quickly becoming my favourite. You’ve got good taste.”

“Thank you,” I said, sorting out his change. Peeking at him, I offered him a warm smile before setting the change into his expectant palm.

I expected Frank to leave so I could return to the truffles waiting for me in the back room. But he didn’t. He shifted his carrier bag from one hand to the other, and in that moment, he looked far more uncomfortable than he had since entering the shop. I wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him but I insistently fought against the urge.

“I was wondering … do you have plans this weekend?”

My eyes shot to his, struggling for words, “I – this – this weekend I’m making the chocolates to restock the truffles.”

“Oh, ok.” He offered me a smile, one that didn’t seem as happy as every other one he’d given me so far. Still, he waved at me on his way out and I returned it with a hesitant smile of my own. I watched his retreating back for as long as I could before I turned back to the waiting truffles.

Now that I’d seen him again, I still struggled to put my finger on it. There was something about him, something that made the back of my head itch uncomfortably. 

* * *

At my insistence that he take more days off work, my father was at home and relaxing with my mother. My father had opened the shop up whilst I was young and for as long as I could remember, he’d slaved away inside the shop. He’d always refused to hire someone else to work with him, insisting they had to pass his high standards. Not many people did. It had taken me a _long_ while for me to convince him that I could help him in the shop. And hopefully, take it over when I’d convinced dad to retire. He’d always worked so hard and he really needed to take a break every now and then. It was just about a miracle that I’d managed to convince him to take time off.

Of course, the downside was that I was left alone in the shop. Right now, with the shop having been open for less than an hour, I had yet to welcome any customers. Instead, I got to enjoy the serenity before the first customers arrived – usually children who snuck in here on the way to school. The children, too young to really be able to afford the chocolate boxes, always welcomed the tray of ‘rejects’ that I left out just for them. They really weren’t rejects and my dad didn’t agree. But I’d convinced him by telling him that I was establishing brand loyalty from a young age.

Sorting out the reject tray, I made sure to separate the nut-free ones for little Angelo whose school blazer dwarfed him but his mum insisted he would grow into it. I’d have to keep a close eye on him as well to make sure he didn’t reach for one of the ones with nuts hidden inside; the last thing I needed was for him to go into anaphylactic shock.

The bell at the top of the door rang, making my hand pause partway through sorting the chocolates out. I risked a glance at my watch; it was too early for the school children to come into the shop. About 10 minutes too early.

Looking up, I couldn’t help but smile – Frank was back. It had been almost two weeks since he’d come to the shop. His presence, although it wasn’t physical in my mind, continued to linger mentally around me. He was like an itch I simply couldn’t shake; there was something I needed to figure out. And I just knew that he’d only stop lingering in my thoughts once I figured out – whatever it was.

He returned my smile with one that was warm and open with no flickers of awkwardness; it was absolutely perfect for the frigid morning. Although, part of me did expect there to be some awkwardness, given how our last conversation had ended with my rejection of …

Clearing my throat, I looked back to Frank who approached the till with a soft, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I returned slowly, biting back my smile. “What can I help you with today?”

“My mother’s birthday is coming up,” he confessed. “I wanted to get her a box of chocolate for her birthday but I’m going to need your help picking them out.”

“Well, it’s what I’m here for.” I waited patiently for him to decide which size box he wanted. When he’d made his choice, I grabbed the box and looked back to Frank. Only, I found him staring at the display of chocolates like they were going to physically attack him. Smothering my laugh, I said, “I’m going to need to know what your mother likes and dislikes. Is she allergic to anything? Like nuts? Does she like strawberry filling? Or coffee? Or caramel? Or nougat? Or –”

“Wait, wait,” he said quickly, hands held out in front of him to stop me. He looked so overwhelmed that I felt bad for him; it was only chocolate. “I kind of need you to ask me one at a time?”

So, I did ask him, one by one. It took a while. But I got an understanding of Frank’s mother’s taste; she wasn’t a fan of mint or coffee or strawberry in her chocolates. The only nuts she liked were hazelnut and she absolutely would not touch anything with dark chocolate. Or white chocolate for that matter.

“Okie dokie,” I murmured as Frank had finally decided on the selection of chocolates, he wanted to gift his mother. He even upgraded to a larger sized box. As I filled the box, one by one, I couldn’t help but sneak glances at him as he stood watching me. When he caught my eyes, my mind instantly flickered back to something I’d dreamt. Something random and strange and … domestic. Slowly, I asked, “We’ve never met before have we? Like, before you first walked into the shop?”

He continued to watch me. Only, this gaze deepened like the answer to my question was much more complicated than I’d thought. Just – it made no sense. The silence lengthened until the bell rang once more and then he was drawing away, shaking his head.

For a moment, I set the box aside and addressed the school children who rushed in towards me. Grabbing the ‘reject’ tray, I handed it out to them. But I kept Angelo’s apart and when the tiny boy managed to push his way to the front, I held the plate out towards him. He gave me a grin – goofy and missing one of his front teeth but he thanked me, nonetheless. Once all the school kids had filed out with their thank-yous, I was reminded once more of Frank’s lingering presence. I looked back to him then, hesitating. But my question remained unanswered.

“No,” he said so softly that I almost didn’t know what he was talking about. Rather, when I rang up his total, he completed, “We haven’t met before I saw you in the shop.”

I accepted his answer. Even if I couldn’t shake just how familiar he was. Bagging the chocolates, I held them out towards him and Frank watched me lingeringly once more. He outstretched his hand, not properly taking the bag. I searched his eyes hesitantly.

“The offer I made you last time,” he said slowly, “do you want to? Go for a drink sometime?”

I agreed if only to get to the bottom of all of this because I _really_ shouldn’t have been dating someone who was becoming a regular customer. “Sure, why not?”

* * *

Sometimes, it was surprising just how easy you could get along with someone. Someone who had waltzed into your life one day and caused some strange reaction in your head that made them more than a temporary fixture in your life. Hopefully – a permanent one. Maybe eventually. It should have been a scary thought, to contemplate the idea of having Frank in my life for longer than I’d originally planned. But, as I sat across from him in a café in the park, it didn’t seem scary at all.

We’d spent almost an hour walking through the park, circling the duck pond and we’d spent most of it talking. He was somehow, the easiest person to talk to. As if I could say anything to him and I knew he wouldn’t judge me for it and that I didn’t need to hide anything from him either. It was strange, not something I’d expected to find with someone who’d entered our shop on a random day.

I listened as he talked, telling me about his mother’s reaction and how she swore that she’d only eat chocolate that I’d made from now on. He was animated as he talked, motioning with his hands as he talked and I couldn’t help but smile. When he trailed off, catching my eyes again, I realised that I hadn’t said anything in while. Rather, I’d been so interested in just watching him.

Part of me had hoped that this would be all I needed to understand the reason that I continued to think about him and this easy familiarity that was between us. Clearing my throat, I glanced away from him and towards the ladies bathroom where the queue had _finally_ disappeared.

“Would you excuse me?” I asked slowly, making a vague gesture behind me.

“Yeah, sure.”

Offering him one more smile, I grabbed my bag and rose to my feet. Heading into the ladies toilet, I walked into the nearest empty stall. I took a little longer than necessary, using the time alone to try and wrap my head around him. Frank insisted that we’d never met before, insisted it and yet there was something so comforting about him that it really made no sense to me. None whatsoever.

By the time I walked out of the bathroom and returned to the table, I found Frank sitting at an empty table with no sign of the menus in front of him. I tried not to frown, looking to him for an explanation.

“The queue cleared up so I ordered for us,” he explained with a smile, “I didn’t think you’d want to wait long?”

“No, you’re right,” I agreed slowly, wandering whether to remind him that he’d never asked for my order. And I’d certainly never told him it either. I usually didn’t like people ordering for me.

I dismissed the errant thought, not wanting to linger on it for much longer and instead I asked him about work and listened as he stumbled over an answer. It was a long drawn out answer, something about him being some sort of detective and that he couldn’t give me a detailed answer because there was an investigation currently underway. I didn’t dare ask any further.

The arrival of our drinks spared me from asking anything else. Frank’s drink was placed in front of him and mine followed soon after. I looked down into the cup – a mocha – and I thanked the waitress when she placed an almond bake and a chocolate muffin on the table. Distantly, I heard Frank say a thank you to the waitress before he slid the almond bake towards me.

I tried not to watch him beneath curious eyes.

“So?” he asked, taking a sip from his mug, “Did I guess correctly? I think I have a knack for it.”

“A knack for it?” I repeated slowly, struggling not to wonder any further. A mocha and an almond bake. “My go-to order, actually.”

I wanted to ask then, how he knew. How it was so easy to talk to him? It made sense for me to be a little freaked out, maybe even caught by surprise that he’d managed to guess so spot on or even that I was so easy to read? But I couldn’t think. It was like a white fog had covered my mind and I couldn’t -

Frank was still watching me, searching for a response.

Breathing out slowly, I grabbed my bag and reached for my purse as I murmured, “I should pay you back for my half of the – ”

“No,” he said instantly, reaching out a hand to still mine as I opened up my purse. His eyes held mine and under the weight of his inquisitive eyes, I offered him a small smile. “Let me get it. And if you’re insistent on paying – maybe you can get it next time?”

The implication of next time cut through the white fog. All I could do was offer him another smile, more genuine, and I didn’t dare contest his words. 

* * *

There was a next time. And many more after that.

Each ran smoother than the next and I grew less concerned about the lingering familiarity that we shared. I simply clocked it up to there being some sort of connection we shared and I certainly never spoke of it to Frank. It was bad enough that these thoughts occupied my mind, they didn’t need to freak him out also. I would always much rather spend time in Frank’s comforting presence.

Even now, as I sat on the sofa in Frank’s apartment, I couldn’t help the warmth of contentment that rushed over me. I sat with my legs stretched out in front of me, feet resting in Frank’s lap as I slowly made my way through the book my mother had recommended to me. It was an odd book – almost unnecessarily raunchy in places and I certainly didn’t want to picture my mother reading this sort of book. Part of me didn’t even want to read it in front of Frank. But here I was, reading contently as Frank read his own book with one of his hands rubbing distractedly up and down my thigh.

Turning the page, I did my best to hide my reaction as the conquering Viking husband prepared to finalise his marriage with a shying maiden from a captured village. Heat rushed to my cheeks and I did my best not to cringe – I could _not_ believe that my mother had recommended this book to me. I would’ve put the book down, refusing to finish it if I wasn’t always adamant on completing every book I started. Even if it _was_ torture to read. And God knew this one was torture.

Frank cleared his throat, making me peek at him from over the top of the book; I didn’t dare raise my face until my cheeks cooled a little more. Marking his place, Frank put the book down beside him. He lifted my feet, standing and replacing them onto his seat. “Tea?”

“Please,” I murmured, shutting my book quickly when Frank leaned down to kiss me. I returned it, tilting my head towards him and doing my best to get him to linger for a moment longer. He laughed against my lips, giving me one more chaste kiss before straightening up fully and heading into the kitchen.

I returned once more to the book and tried to rush quickly through what seemed to be an unnecessarily rough first time; this was horrific. Finally – _finally_ coming to an end of the chapter, I placed my bookmark and shut the book with a snap. Tilting my head back, I breathed out sharply; this was the last time I accepted any book recommendations from my mother. Flickering to the final page, I made note of the number of pages I had left and tried not to weep; almost 200.

Leaning forward to put the book on the coffee table, I lifted my arms over my head and stretched with a groan. I rose from my seat, walking around the front room and wondering just what was keeping Frank so long. Leaving him to his own devices, I took the time to actually look around; despite having been here dozens of times, I’d still never really gotten a good look around.

I walked around slowly; not many people had a red and gold colour scheme. Spying his fireplace, my eyes lingered on a picture frame that faced the wrong way. Frowning slightly, I approached the fireplace and smiled at the other picture – images with Frank from various stages of his life. Getting to the reversed photo frame, I went to turn it around only –

Brows furrowing, I doubted my eyes. Because I couldn’t be seeing what I was seeing. Because there was no way that I was currently holding a framed photograph of myself and Frank from what could only be years ago – the me in the picture had a pixie cut, one I regretted and had never repeated again.

“Oh my god,” I whimpered under my breath, hand shaking as I tried to make sense of everything. How possible could –

The frame fell between my shaking fingers, shattering on the floor. I paid no heed to the sound of the breaking glass, ignoring the way the fractured pieces cut my feet through my socks or the concerned call Frank gave of my name. All I could focus on the was the same sharp pain at the back of my mind only this time, this time it was unbearable.

The pain grew more and more until I groaned in pain, paying no heed to the way Frank’s hands grasped my shoulders, trying to speak to me. I shook my head, trying to say something. Only, in the next instance, my eyes rolled into the back of my head and I fainted right into Frank’s arms. 

* * *

There was no way of knowing how much time had passed before I woke up. All I knew was that when I woke up, I was resting in Frank’s bed and the night sky was dark. No, that wasn’t all I knew. I knew it all.

Right from the beginning, from the first time I’d met him all those years ago, the first time we’d dated and even the first time we broke up. The first time I’d broken up with him. Everything was there, plain and centre and all I could do was struggle to make sense of it. Except, there was nothing to make sense of. I knew everything and I couldn’t bring myself to speak a word of it. Or even do anything about it.

I remembered it all and it was all the more heartbreaking, having to live it once more. Groaning, I buried my face in my hands. But this wasn’t the time to lose myself in my thoughts. The first time he’d told me the truth about _everything,_ Frank had told me that all memories of him would be removed from my mind if our relationship didn’t work out. I could only assume that’s what had happened.

The door pushed open slowly, the light from the hallway pouring into the room. My eyes found Frank then, as he stood hesitantly in the open doorway – I could read from his face alone that he knew. He knew that I knew.

I breathed out shakily; this was too bloody much. Dropping my head into my hands, I didn’t look up at the sound of Frank’s footsteps walking across the room to join me. Or even when I felt the mattress dip as he sat beside me. I wanted to say something, struggling for anything to say.

Finally, all I managed was a soft, “Why?”

When there was no answer, I finally looked at Frank, finding him sitting so close to me that I couldn’t look away from his eyes. Eyes that were so beautiful I wondered how I’d coped without them during our time apart.

He held my eyes for another moment, before speaking softly, “I missed you.”

And I didn’t know then, until just how much I’d missed him. Properly missed him. Like there was an ache in the middle of my chest like someone had carved a gaping hole inside me. I breathed out shakily again, lips quivering. Burrowing my head again in my hands, I turned into Frank as his arms came around me to hold me close. I let myself be cradled against his chest, breathing out raggedly and doing my very best to stop myself from crying. It was almost too difficult.

“I can’t do it,” I murmured, shuddering slightly. “I can’t do it again. It hurt too much the first time Frank and I can’t be the one to end it all again.”

“Then don’t,” he said so softly that I almost didn’t hear it. He set his chin on the top of my head, his hands holding me so gently that it was like he thought I’d shatter into a thousand pieces if he held me tightly. I wanted nothing more than for him to hold me tightly in that moment, to hold me together. “Don’t do that to us again.”

When I drew away, Frank let me. His eyes sought mine out as I evaded his gaze. If I looked at him, it would be too hard. “We tried this already and it didn’t work. We just don’t fit – our lifestyles don’t fit together.”

“You don’t mean that.” He took my hand then, and I finally looked at him. Swallowing harshly, I didn’t pull my hand away. “Come on –”

“I don’t think I fit into your magical world,” I answered truthfully. Shrugging simply, I searched his eyes. Forgetting him would be so much harder the second time. “Maybe this is where our interconnected lives end.”

“No.” He shook his head adamantly. “What if I gave it all up? And settled into this world with you?”

“I won’t let you do that for me.” I tried to take my hand away then. But he refused to comply, trapping my hand steadily between both of his. “You have this wonderful life; you can do things I can only dream about and I can’t let you give it all up for me.”

“But what type of life is it, if I can’t have you?”

“You’ll get over it – over me,” I murmured softly, both of us knowing it was a lie. It took being made to forget Frank to cope with the heartache of losing him. I loved him so much the first time and I loved him even more, having fallen for him again. This time the heartbreak would kill me. 

* * *

Frank knew me, he knew me better than I even knew myself. I remembered that now. I remembered the easy way he could read my moods by just how I played with my fingers or shifted my weight as I stood. He understood me so well, that he knew I needed time to think, to sort out the mess of our relationship timeline in my head. There was the time we first dated – and then a period of forgetting him – and then meeting him again – and then remembering it all, and now there was nothing but uncertainty remaining.

Thankfully Frank understood. He was also never one to push, to make me do something I wasn’t ready to do and yet, I was still surprised at _just_ how well he knew me. Frank knew the exact number of days to stay away from me and when he returned, five days later, somehow, he’d timed it perfectly to the day after I’d come to a decision.

He waited until the shop almost closed, just as I was wiping the counter down to clear up for the day. Just as I went to step out from behind the till to turn the open sign to closed, he walked into the shop. And God, just the sight of him standing there so hesitant and so uncertain of our future had an overwhelming rush of affection come over me. He held my eyes for a long moment, waiting for me to take the first step – whatever happened now, would be my decision. Frank would follow my lead – gladly and without a single protest even if he disagreed. If I didn’t want him in my life again, he would walk away despite wanting to stay, despite his heart breaking. I wasn’t sure I could handle my heart breaking over him once more.

“Frank,” I started slowly, returning once more behind the counter and putting some space between us. He took it as a retreat, as a sign of my upcoming rejection and I didn’t correct him. Not yet. I couldn’t tell him that if he walked towards me – like I knew he would – all I’d want to do was hold him. I wanted to hold him – with all that I knew of him; all that I now remembered – I wanted nothing more than to be held steady in his arms. But we needed to talk first. Clearing my throat, I gestured behind him towards the door, “Can you turn the sign over for me?”

“Yeah – of course.” My eyes trailed after him, step for step, as he once more returned to the door and turned the sign so it read closed.

Looking back to me, Frank eyed the distance separating us. He hesitated for another moment before taking careful measured steps towards me. It was his progression – he would get close enough that I was within arm’s reach. But his arms wouldn’t actually reach for me. Not unless I’d told him I wanted him to.

“I think we should just be frank here,” I started, catching the way Frank smothered a slight smile. “Alright, bad word choice. But I think we should just be honest here and stop hovering around the issue.”

“I agree.” His smile left him completely now, and he awkwardly twirled a ring around his little finger. I’d given it to him, I remembered suddenly, eyes lingering on the ring as it went round and round his finger. Why hadn’t I noticed it before? “Why don’t you go first?”

“Ok, I will.” I cleared my throat, reaching for the rag so I had something to wring between my hands. “I understand just how much you risked for me the first time we dated; just how wrong things could have gone for the both of us. But here you are again, risking it a second time. God knows why, but I feel like it’s even riskier the second time around – that if things go wrong and I have to forget again, something will happen to you.”

“Something would happen to me,” he admitted and I was thankful for the honesty, even as I released the rag and wiped my hands on my trousers. “I keep coming back to you and I’ve been already warned that there’ll be more serious consequences a second time.”

“And yet you’re still here?” Shaking my head incredulously, I walked so close to the counter that it started to dig painfully into my hips. “Really, Frank? Why?”

The answer was simple and honest. “Because I love you – more than I’ve ever loved anyone before.”

I breathed out slowly. Frank was close enough to reach; I extended a hand towards him and grabbed him by the shirt. Hauling him towards me, I kissed him and it was like breathing again. Like taking a deep, _real_ lungful of air after having been short of breath for years. For who knew quite how long. Frank’s hands, warm and calloused, cradled my face against his and he groaned reluctantly when I drew back. Not that I went far.

I stayed close to him, perched on my toes with my body halfway across the counter. My calves had started to ache slowly, but I didn’t move away. Instead, I watched his face, watched as he considered me from behind shielded eyes.

“Was that supposed to be a goodbye kiss?” he asked slowly.

“No, God no.” I shook my head, licking my parched lips. “We’ll see things through this time. I promise I won’t back away so easily this time.”

“Thank Merlin,” he swore under his breath, drawing me once more towards him for a longer kiss that made the pain in my calves insignificant. 


	2. Epilogue: 3 Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My father was an unnecessarily stubborn man.

_3 YEARS LATER_

My father was an unnecessarily stubborn man. He was so stubborn that Frank remarked he’d have been sorted into Gryffindor if he had magical blood – I wasn’t quite sure what that really meant. But, because my father was so stubborn, he still refused to take time off. It had taken _months_ of my mother and me working as a team to get him to take an entire week off. He’d acted like we were talking about walking him to his execution. Eventually, after investing _way_ too much time into persuading him to take a holiday, they were off and I was left to run the shop on my own. Well, not really on my own.

Frank was always around, acting as a shadow and helping me as I worked. Although, I refused to actually let him work with any of the chocolate because it would be a disaster. But, with him here, I could work with dedication in the workroom without having to worry about manning the front of the shop. He spent so much time helping me, that when I enquired about his work, he’d admitted that he took some time off from work. He said something about not yet being mentally ready to go back to fighting dark wizards and that he preferred working in the shop, that I didn’t protest any further.

Of course, I’d also taken the opportunity to rib Frank for his reliance on magic. He used it for _everything_ – so much so that it was ridiculous. Sometimes, when he was feeling lazy, he wouldn’t stand to get something he wanted, he’d cast an _accio_. Even if the thing he wanted was well within arm’s reach. I’d challenged him to go the week without using his magic – at all, to prove to him just how reliant he was on it. The first few days were a complete terror, with me having to keep a close eye on him to make sure he wasn’t cheating. With each passing day, he was getting thankfully better.

“Love?” Frank called out from the shop floor, walking into the back where I had finished covering the truffles in tempered chocolate. I was doing a quick quality check, ensuring that everything was perfect before grabbing the trays to put into the fridge. Shutting the fridge doors, I looked at him with an indulgent smile; he looked frazzled.

“The old women of town came in again and kept harassing you?” I guessed, moving towards the next chocolates that I needed to assemble.

“Next time, you can deal with them and I’ll work in here,” he suggested, gesturing with his hand to the now empty shop floor.

“No way in hell.”

I glanced away from Frank, wiping my hands clean before reaching for the piping bag I’d previously filled with melted white chocolate and left submerged in warm water. Wiping it dry and snipping off the end to make a small hole, I slowly drizzled it over the dark chocolate squares that I’d made in the morning. Concentrating hard, I made sure that they were all identical and when I reached the end of the tray, I straightened my back and smiled in satisfaction. Setting the piping bag aside, I tried to move again when Frank appeared suddenly at my back.

His hands wound around me, grasping the worktable on either side of my waist. Turning in his arms to face him, I raised a silent eyebrow. Not that Frank paid any mind to my fake irritation. He lowered his head to me, kissing me so soundly that I almost forgot about the chocolates I needed to put in the fridge for a short while. One hand at my waist, the other cradling my jaw, Frank smiled against my lips and I returned it. I edged a hand along the workbench, reaching innocuously for a spatula I’d used to smooth out the chocolate I’d poured into a mould, my palm curved around the handle. When I tried to draw back – a warning, really – Frank followed suit; always wanting to make the most of the rare alone time we got. He should have heeded my silent warning.

I moved in a heartbeat, smearing the spatula across Frank’s cheek and staining it with chocolate. He reared back in shock, touching his cheek and looking at me with wide eyes. I struggled not to giggle at how funny he looked with his wide eyes and open mouth. His surprise faded in a heartbeat, replaced by mischief I dreaded to see.

“You’re going to regret that,” he warned and before I could possibly look for something to shield myself with, Frank smeared his chocolate stained fingertips against my skin in a long motion – going from my lips towards my cheekbones.

“ _Frank_ ,” I protested, reaching to try and wipe it away.

He caught my hand easily in his and holding the second steady when I tried to use my free hand. With a single hand, Frank trapped both my wrists against his chest and smiled smugly down at me.

“I warned you.”

“You’re a nuisance and a half,” I protested, trying to thump at his chest with my trapped hands. It didn’t work very well.

And then he was once more leaning down the kiss me, removing all the chocolate he’d smudged across my face. Giving up my protests, I kissed him back and waited until there was a tell-tale bell ringing as the door to the shop opened. I pushed him away from me then, ushering him back to the storefront. A bit flustered, but complying, Frank turned to head out to greet the customer.

“Wait,” I protested, grabbing him by the back of his shirt, “Clean the chocolate off your face, first.”

As if just remembering that there was chocolate on his face, Frank reached for the wand he kept tucked safely out of view, he cast a silent spell that had the chocolate disappearing beneath my eyes.

“I’ll let that one go,” I acquiesced, waiting for him to do the same for me.

“Sorry love, but I think you might be relying too much on my magic,” he returned with a wink as he walked into the front of the shop. I scowled at his back, shaking my head before turning to the sink in the back; it was going to take a while to clean this all up.


End file.
